


Mornings (Mournings)

by HumsHappily



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, First Time, Fluff, Inexperienced Sherlock, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Morning After, Morning Sex, Rimming, Sex by a Fireplace, Shower Sex, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3928786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If he had been asked, John would answered that he had expected their first time together to be fast. A moment of passion, teeth clashing together, tongues warring. Instead, their first night was slow, nearly achingly so.  It started with a case….</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Night

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration for the first chapter was art by Archia which can be found [here](http://archiaart.tumblr.com/post/112290339496/firelight-dancing-in-his-eyes/) on tumblr.  
> 

“Sherlock?” John smiled, as the man swept angrily through the door of the flat behind him. “You know he didn’t mean anything by it right?”

“Yes, John, however, I do not appreciate the attentions of such….men. I should think it would be clear that I wasn’t interested, as I didn’t respond,” Sherlock scowled, looking around the room.

“Sherlock, come on. I think tearing him to shreds was a bit much.”

Sherlock sniffed, and moved to kneel in front of the fire.

“The heating is still out.” He began to stack the wood that rested inside into a ‘Holmes approved’ setting.

“Of course it is,” John sighed, shrugging his coat off with a shiver. “Anyway, at least he had enough class to give us a nice thank you.” He held up the bottle of champagne with a flourish. “Should we?”

“Only if you bring out the leftover naan and strawberries,” Sherlock muttered distractedly, leaning forward with the lighter. John rolled his eyes and set the bottle down in his armchair, moving into the kitchen. He flipped on the oven, throwing the bread into heat after pulling it and the strawberries from the fridge. Humming softly, he sliced the berries as Sherlock swore at the fire, ripping papers to feed the flame. John smiled at the detective’s grumbles, reaching high into the cupboard for two thin glass flutes. He set them on the counter, just as the oven beeped. Pulling a towel over his hand, John levered the pan out, sliding the bread onto the plate with the strawberries.

“Anything else Sherlock?” he called out, taking the plate in hand.

“No.”

John snorted at the petulant answer, Sherlock still glaring at the sputtering flames. He entered the sitting room, plopping down on the floor.

“Move over and I’ll do it.”

“No, I can do it. You forgot napkins.”

“I’ll go get them, then, and change.”

“Fine.”

John left, changing quickly. Freshly attired in linen trousers and a clean white t-shirt, he came back down the stairs, padding into the kitchen for napkins, grabbing forks just in case. Sherlock was staring broodingly at the flames, a successful grin on his face. He looked up as John came back in, sitting cross legged next to him.

“I did it.”

“I see.”

Sherlock had also managed to nibble away at the naan and fruit, leaving only half a circle and a few loose slices of berry for John. John looked down at the plate and popped a strawberry in his mouth, flavor bursting across his tongue. He tore off a piece of bread, humming at the taste before swallowing. He finished off the plate and shifted it to the side, unused forks resting on the white ceramic. He gave a sigh of contentment and Sherlock smiled softly at him.

The men stared into the flames as they began to lick over the center log, crackling merrily.

John shrugged after a bit, and reached up for the champagne. “Ready?” He popped it open, the fizz settling quickly. “Hmm. That was a bit anticlimactic.”

Sherlock nodded, attention still fixed on the flames. He reached out blindly, holding first one, then the other flute for John to fill. He nodded again, this time in thanks when John had finished.

“Sherlock...” John said hesitantly, leaning back on his elbows. “When you said you didn’t appreciate the attentions of such men...are you? I mean, is it all men? Or just him? Or is it everyone?”

“You are rambling, John. Ask the question.” Sherlock turned, gaze piercing as he stared at John.

John bit his lip. “Well, we’ve been flatmates for years now, friends for even longer. And I’ve not really asked since the first night.”

“John.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Ask the question.”

“Are you..are you gay?”

Sherlock sighed and leaned back, tugging the blanket from the sofa. He pulled it around his shoulders, before turning to face John completely.

“No. I do, however, identify as ‘gray-ace’, experiencing sexual attraction very, very rarely. I have noted that when I do, the person tends to be male, though gender does not seem to be a factor if one analyzing the entire spectrum of my history. It was never a consideration in my mind. Romantic attraction tends to fall along the same lines.”

“Ahh. Right then.” John began to chew at his thumb, looking away, toward the flames. Sherlock sighed, reaching out and pulling at his wrist.

“John. Stop.”

“I...sorry,” John said, putting his hand in his lap.

“It’s alright.” Sherlock rest his hand atop John’s for a moment, before pulling away. John shivered, toes curling.

“Probably should have kept my socks on. Or at least a jumper.”

Sherlock nodded and pulled a folded red blanket from where it was resting underneath his chair. He handed it to John wordlessly.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Sherlock said shortly, attention back on the fire. “You are still curious,” he murmured after a time, gaze darting to John’s eyes.

“I...” John sighed, giving up the pretense. “Yeah. I am.”

“What is it you wish to know?”

“How many, I suppose. Who, when, why,” John replied.

Sherlock gave a thoughtful murmur. “How many? Four. Two at university, one more recently, and another for years now. The first was my chemistry professor. Nothing more than a strange passing fancy. The second, a botanist named Victor Trevor. We dated for quite some time. He was...kind. Always willing to listen when I had trouble with my ash collection. However, he moved away and we broke it off. The third was Irene, I’ll admit it. But we never...it never truly felt right. Maybe if we had met in another time, a different circumstance.”

John’s chest felt tight, his heart pounding. He closed his eyes, and asked the damning question. “And the fourth?”

“I hardly think you need to ask,” Sherlock replied, voice deep and unwavering.

John breathed out slowly, grip tight around the thin glass stem in his hand. “Who.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. “I...I need to hear you say it.”

“You should know. It’s always been you.” John watched as Sherlock sipped his champagne, tongue darting out to catch a droplet from the corner of his mouth. The firelight danced in his eyes, Sherlock staring deep into the base as if the answer to everything was contained in the flickering light.

“Sherlock…”

“Yes, John?”

John wavered, hand hovering above the other man’s knee. “I don’t want...I don’t want to ruin what we have for a maybe.” He settled his hand, thumb rubbing slowly as his mind flashed to thoughts of Mary, of James, of other faces and times that ended too soon.

Sherlock turned, palm resting over John’s. “There has never been a force that could pull us apart. Not even death, faked or otherwise. If you think that this is a “maybe”, you are sorely mistaken.” His eyes were focused on John, even as the flames waved, reflecting in his  fathomless depths. John nodded slowly and Sherlock set his half full champagne glass aside. He moved his legs so they were pointing straight out, bracketing John. Somewhere in the back corner of his mind, John noticed that Sherlock’s feet were bare, the man having shed his socks and shoes at some point in the evening. His feet were long and bony, decorated with sparse dark hairs and John fought back a hysterical laugh. Sherlock scooted in further, even as John moved, uncrossing his legs. He rose up on his knees, placing his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders as he stared into the man’s curious, curious eyes.

“You’re sure..about this? About us?”

“John.” Sherlock replied hoarsely, hands moving to rest on the soldiers hips. “Just kiss me.”

John leaned in with a sigh, gently pressing his lips to Sherlock’s. He pulled away after a moment, looking into his eyes. “We shouldn’t have waited so long.”

“No. We shouldn’t have.”

“Will you…just...” John traced over Sherlock’s lips with the tip of his thumb. “Come to bed with me?”

“No.”

John blinked and pulled away, shocked and hurt and confused. “No?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “Bed, yes. But not now. First, John….I want you. Here.” He released John’s hips and laid back. He reached up, guiding John’s hand to the line of buttons going down his front. “John. Please.”

John sucked a breath in through his teeth, the sight of Sherlock splayed beneath him shockingly erotic even with the man fully clothed. His eyes were hooded and dark, tracking the path of John’s tongue across his lips. “God, yes, Sherlock.” John leaned down, fumbling hands on buttons as he matched Sherlock’s lips to his own. Sherlock sighed as the first button was released, as John claimed his mouth, tongue sliding across the seam of his lips. Their kiss deepened as buttons came open one by one. Sherlock pulled away panting, John moving down to suck a mark at the base of his throat. Sherlock moaned, the reverberations sending sparks of lust through John's belly.

“John. Lube.”

“Where?”

“Bedroom. Bedside drawer.”

John groaned, looking at Sherlock on the ground, shirt unbuttoned and hanging open to the waist. A perfect flush was splotched across the man’s pale chest, dusky dark hair standing out against the red patches.

“I...condom?”

“I’m clean.”

“Me too.”

Sherlock nodded then, letting his head fall back to the floor. “Hurry.”

John swore, rocking to his feet and darting down the hall. He rummaged in the bedside table, grinning as he pulled out the half empty tube. He shucked off his shirt, shutting the drawer with a hip.

“Sherlock, I’ve got--oh Christ."

Sherlock was kneeling, completely nude now, clothes piled on the chair nearby, scarred back to John. He looked over his shoulder as John re-entered the room, eyes dark and needy. “John..the door.”

John did as instructed, moving and turning the lock on the door. The click of the tumbler falling to place was loud in the silence of the flat. John leaned his head against the door, trying for just a moment to get his breathing under control.

"John..are you alright?"

"'M fine. Just can't quite..." John shook his head, counting slowly in his head.

"Believe it's happening?"

"Yeah." John answered shakily, pushing off the door, flicking the light switch as he did so, sending the room into near darkness.  He moved back to the fire, sinking to his knees. Sherlock still hadn't turned, body still angled half toward the flames, half toward the bookshelves. John shuffled forward, pressing up against Sherlock's back, tracing along his spine with shaky hands.

"John." Sherlock's voice was just nearly trembling. "It's...been a while," He whispered, bowing his head. "And even then, I've barely..." He trailed off and John allowed his cheek to rest between the man's shoulder blades.

"Do you remember what I said that first day?"

"Every word."

"Then you know it's fine. All of it."

"Ah." Sherlock said quietly, just looking at the flames. John waited, ear thrumming with Sherlock's dull heatbeat, his own thudding in time. "Good."

Pressing a kiss to the skin at the base of Sherlock's neck, John leaned back on his elbows, scooting so he was directly in front of the fire. Sherlock had laid the blankets out, and they just eased the harshness of the floor. Sherlock turned, moving to his hands and knees. John stared in awe as Sherlock crawled up his body, shoulders dipping and rolling as he shifted to straddle John's thighs.

As Sherlock bent his head in for a kiss, John lifted to meet him, the pressing need for more, hot and heavy in his mind. His cock throbbed where it was trapped inside his trousers, Sherlock giving a soft gasp as his own brushed the rough fabric covering John’s body.

"John. You're still wearing too many clothes." Sherlock leaned back, hands trailing down John’s body to rest at his waistband. “There might be chafing.” Sherlock gave a low chuckle as he pulled the drawstring of John’s bottoms. John gasped as Sherlock slid his hands down his thighs, baring his legs slowly. The trousers were pulled off and Sherlock stared down at John, seemingly analyzing every mark and spot.

They had seen each other nude before. It was hard not to, living in close quarters, stitching wounds when Sherlock was too stubborn to go to the hospital. But this was different. They were together, bodies on display for each other for no other reason than the carnal need that was claiming them. “John…” Sherlock breathed, voice barely a whisper, “You’re not real. You can’t be.” His hands drifted down, cataloguing, examining, exploring. Sherlock dipped his head, mouthing at the starburst of scar tissue. His tongue slipped out, tracing the pattern of the mark.

John gave a pleasured hiss at the prodding tongue, hands moving up to twist his fingers in Sherlocks hair. "That is the strangest sensation. I know you're there, the nerve damage is-"

"Causing you to feel as though I'm pricking you with several needles?" Sherlock asked, turning his eyes to John. He moved up for a kiss, taking one of John's hands and guiding to rest just over the curve of his left hip. John splayed his fingers, feeling over the jagged scar. "Ran into a bit of metal, didn't have the coat on. The doctors did their best, but they weren't you." Sherlock explained as he moved on to John's other shoulder. "No one is like you, John."

John's breath caught as Sherlock raised up on his knees, crystalline eyes staring down at him. "Sherlock? Are you nearly done exploring me?"

"Not nearly so," Sherlock murmured, moving his hands through the hair on John's chest, stopping to brush a thumb over his nipple. "Why?"

"Because, I'd like to return the favor."

Sherlock’s breath stuttered, and he paused his hands as he gazed into John’s eyes.

“John…”

John breathed steadily, quietly waiting for Sherlock to consent. With a nod, Sherlock removed his hands, rocking back on his heels. John raised up on his own, cupping Sherlock’s face.

“Sherlock,” John said, searching the man’s eyes. “Before we do anything, before this goes any farther, you have to know. I love you.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Don’t say it. Not unless you mean it.”

John smiled, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. “I mean it. I love you, Sherlock Holmes. It doesn’t matter that you’re an absolute madman, who hates funny hats, and jumps off buildings, and leaves me for two years with a woman who happened to be an American assassin. I love you, and I haven’t stopped loving you since the day you taught me to run again.”

“John…” Sherlock breathed, hands coming up to hang on John’s wrists. “You...no one is like you.” He leaned back, pulling John with him as they moved to the floor once again. “You are light.” Sherlock continued as he kept John’s gaze, pulling his hand to rest on his heart. “You saved me, from so much. From myself.”

John, oddly enough, blinked back tears at Sherlock’s statement. He let go of a shaky breath, the thudding of Sherlock’s heart strong under his palm. “I wouldn’t have made it much longer. I would have died if I hadn’t met you.” He whispered, “I was so alone, and...I owe you so much. You’re a miracle I never expected to have.” He tipped his head down, resting it on Sherlock’s breastbone. Sherlock raised a hand, threading it through John’s hair.

“Your hair was so short then. You’ve let it grow. Nearly an inch now since we met, but of course you have had it cut.”

“Of all the things to notice now, you notice my hair?” John asked, raising his head as his fingers traced Sherlock’s jaw.

“It is a sign of how you feel about your place in society. Clipped short, you are fighting something. Short means you are uncomfortable. The longer it gets, the more stress you let go of, the more you feel that you belong,” Sherlock murmured, eyes fluttering at the gentle pressure. “You belong, John. Here, with me.” He forced his eyes open, locking into John’s gaze. “Don’t leave me. Never again.”

John nodded. “Never, love. Wild horses couldn’t drag me away.”

“There wouldn’t be any wild horses in London,” Sherlock said.

“Never mind, Sherlock.” John smiled. “It doesn’t matter.” He leaned down, capturing Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock raised his head up to meet him, shifting so John was lying atop him properly, legs twisted together. John gasped at the feel of his cock sliding across Sherlock’s hip, Sherlock copying him as his own brushed against John’s thigh. They broke the kiss, pausing to just breathe each other’s air, the fire filling the room with warmth as it cracked and popped.

John moved first, rising to kneel over Sherlock. He traced the shadows dancing across his skin, palms smoothing across Sherlock’s chest. “Sherlock. Tell me what you want.”

Sherlock brought his hands forward to clasp John’s wrists gently. “I want you. Touch me. Explore, John,” He said. “Take me. Make me forget we were ever apart.”

John shuddered at Sherlock’s voice, rich and low, dark with hunger. Letting Sherlock guide him, he slid his hands down, dipping into the just-barely-there hollow of Sherlock’s stomach. “You need feeding up,” He murmured as Sherlock moved his hands lower, tangling his fingers in the dark curls of his thighs and groin. He gave a light tug, and Sherlock gasped, moving his hands to the side, until he was grasping at his hips. Leaving them there, John bent his head, his lips tracing the tight muscles of Sherlock’s neck, his head thrown back in need. He bit down, sucking another mark into the divot of Sherlock’s collarbone. Sherlock groaned underneath him, the vibrations at his mouth making John’s cock grow harder. John raised his head, biting his bottom lip as he stared at Sherlock. “I want to taste you. Please?”

Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes as John worked his way down his body. As John traced the line of hair leading to his cock with a gentle tongue, Sherlock let a low whine escape him, sliding his fingers into John’s hair again. John pressed Sherlock’s legs up, bending them carefully at the knees. “Shh, I’ve got you.” He murmured against the crest of Sherlock’s hip, before marking him with a brilliant bloom of purpling skin. Sherlock gasped at the nip, fingers tightening.

“John, please.”

“I know, love, I know.” John replied, lips grazing over Sherlock’s hot flesh. He licked his lips and took him in slow, afraid that if he rushed, the whole scene would fade into ash. Sherlock moaned, hips jumping off the floor as he fought to stay still, John pressing his hands against the backs of his thighs, fingers gripping tight. He teased his tongue against the underside of Sherlock’s cock as he bobbed his head, long, thin fingers twisted tight in his hair. "'M gonna get you off like this, Sherlock,"John murmured. "Gonna make you feel good."

"No, J..John. Please," Sherlock panted, pulling him up. "Want you. In me. Filling me."

John groaned as Sherlock pulled them flush together, licking forcefully into his mouth. "Please," Sherlock begged. "Just take me."

John sent a shaky hand out across the floor searching for the lubricant, clicking it open and slicking his fingers.

"Start with two," Sherlock said, breaking their kiss and pushing John down. "I like the stretch."

"Whatever you want," John murmured, pressing his fingers forward. Sherlock's eyes fluttered, groaning as the digits entered his body, clenching tight around them.

"Yes, John. More," He breathed after a moment, John shaking his head.

"Not yet."

"Three then," Sherlock replied. John met his eyes, going to kiss him as his fingers kept working, scissoring him open.Sherlock caught him, groaning and peppering desperate kisses along his jaw as John slid in a third finger.

"Ready, John. Please," He murmured after a bit, and John nodded, sliding his fingers out. Sherlock whined at the empty feeling, John hushing him with a kiss to his shoulder, as he slicked his cock.

John lined himself up and paused. Sherlock was trembling beneath him, muscles taut and defined in the red glow of the fire. John leaned down, kissing his forehead. "Sherlock. Relax, love."

Sherlocks eyes snapped open, focusing on John's face. He nodded and took a deep breath, body going limp as he let go of his tension, his stress. "Trust me, yeah? I've got you." John smiled, licking his way into Sherlock's mouth as he pressed in.

Sherlock gave a low moan as he was filled, arms coming up to wrap around John's neck. "That's it, love." John murmured in his ear as he kept pushing his way in. "Nearly there."

Sherlock dug his nails in at the stretch, mouth falling open as he kept his eyes fixed on John."Please," he whispered, "don't stop. Don't leave me ever again."

"Never," John promised, swallowing hard.

He held, waiting until Sherlock gave a shaky nod before pulling out, just the head of his cock remaining inside. Sherlock tugged him down, pressing slick lips to his throat, letting small pants of breath gust over John’s damp skin. John groaned, sinking back into that slick heat as Sherlock arched against him, cock a hard line between their bellies.

“Shh, love, shh.” John panted as Sherlock cried out. “I know. Almost too much, too full.” Sherlock nodded, arms tightening around John’s neck, eyelashes wet as his thighs trembled.

“I’ve got you,” John murmured, moaning low as Sherlock clenched around him. “Gorgeous.”

He released his grip on one of  Sherlock’s thighs, sliding his hand along to grasp his calf, pulling Sherlock’s leg over his hip. “Like this, it’ll be good,” John promised, rocking his hips until Sherlock gasped, cock jumping as his prostate was struck.

Sherlock whimpered as John repeated the motion, the space between their bodies growing slick as his cock flushed and began to leak. “John, more,” he keened, voice loud in the quiet flat, as he moved his hands to grip at the soldiers biceps.

John nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Mrs.Hudson is home love, can you stay quiet for me?”

Sherlock shook his head with a low whine, and John caught his lips with a groan, slipping a hand between them. He began to jerk Sherlock off in time with his thrusts, each push and pull drawing a small hitching moan from the pair.

Sherlock was alternately tightening and releasing his grip, rocking his hips. “John, I can’t. John, John.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just come for me, I’ve got you.” Sherlock shook his head, a sob escaping his throat as John snapped his hips forward once more.“Sherlock, you’re safe. I’ve got you. Trust me.”

“John!” Sherlock choked out, body freezing up as John gave a final push. Sherlock’s cock jerked, sending his seed over John’s fist and stomach. He sobbed out a breath, raising his head to seek John’s lips, body trembling with aftershocks.

John let him catch his lips, rocking their bodies together. “So good, love. My beautiful, gorgeous love.”

Sherlock pulled away, cupping John’s face with, gentle shaking hands. “You didn’t….”

“It’s alright.”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head. “Please John, I want you to.”

John groaned, leaning down to kiss him again as he began to roll  his hips. Each movement pushed a short breath from Sherlock, whose hands had migrated, twisting tight in the blankets. John kept his eyes focused on Sherlock’s, feeling his balls begin to pull close.

“Sherlock,” he warned, chest heaving as he pushed himself closer to his release. “Sherlock.”

“John,” Sherlock moaned, tongue ghosting across his lips as he arched into him, the change sending John over the edge with a harsh cry. John came hard, body shaking as he emptied himself into Sherlock. Sherlock pulled him close as he finished, kissing him desperately as John pulled out, rolling them onto their sides. They held each other, skin glistening in the light of the fire, limbs entwined as they caught their breath. John gave a low chuckle as Sherlock mouthed at his neck, tongue darting out to taste the salt of his skin.

“Alright, love?”

“Mhm,” Sherlock murmured, drawing back to look him in the eyes. “Better than. Was that...was it good?”

“Yeah, course.”

“You’re sure? I’ve been told I’m over responsive and a bit…” Sherlock trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

John bent his head forward, touching the tips of their noses together. “You were fine, sweetheart. Promise.”

“I love you, John.” Sherlock said quietly, eyes darting to John’s before looking away.

“I know. I love you too, Sherlock,” John said softly, letting a hand rest on his hip. “Can we go clean up? Then to bed?”

Sherlock nodded, sliding his legs against each other with a soft rustle of hairs. “I fear if we do not, I will not be able to move from this blanket. John…”

“Yes?”

“Will we sleep together now? I would like you to stay in my bed. I want to wake up with you in the morning.”

“Course.” John pulled away with a regretful sigh, standing and tugging Sherlock up with him. “Go on into the bathroom. I’ll deal with this, and then I’ll be in, yeah?”

Sherlock leaned forward, kissing him softly on the lips. “Thank you, John.” He made his way from the room, John shaking his head and moving to bank the fire. He tidied up as best he could, before exiting, leaving just a few glowing coals behind.

Sherlock was waiting on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest under a soft red robe. He looked up as John entered, sharing a small smile.

“You covered up,” John grinned back, coming over and running a hand through his still damp curls. “That was a fast wash.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said, tipping his head against John’s palm.

“Next time, we can share. I’m going to go in for a quick scrub, yeah?”

“I’ll be here.”

John nodded, leaning in for a kiss and leaving. Sherlock watched him go, then lay back with a sigh.

**

When John returned, Sherlock had migrated under the covers, hands under his head as he stared at the far wall. John frowned, slipping into the bed next to him. “Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“It’s fine, John.” Sherlock murmured, pressing back as John curled against him. “I was just thinking.”

“What were you thinking?”

Sherlock sighed and turned in his arms. “About how long we wasted. About my time away.”

John hummed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m just…I'm not good. And love can't fix that. I've done things, John. Terrible things, and I have to wonder if you knew...if you would still hold me this tight."

"Did you have reason?"

"What?"

"Did you have reason to do the things you did?" John asked again.

Sherlock faltered. "I had to keep you safe. Had to keep people safe."

"Then you are not a terrible person. You did what you had to." John murmured, stroking a loose curl back from his forehead. "You hurt people, yes, but it was for the greater good. And they were bad people. That doesn't make it any easier, doesn't make it any better. Won't make the nightmares go away, or the scars stop tingling. But it's a reason to keep on living anyway."

Sherlock stayed silent, just taking solace in John’s arms as he thought. John kept petting his hair, gently rearranging the curls, listening to the traffic far below them. Eventually, he dropped a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.

“Love, I’m going to go to sleep, alright? Don’t feel obligated to stay in the bed, I know how you are. We can talk more in the morning.” Sherlock nodded, and John shut his eyes, letting the rhythm of Sherlock’s breath lull him to sleep.

 

 


	2. Mournings

_ The flat...was so silent. There was a distant ticking, but no clink of glassware, muffled murmurs. John could hear his breath, could see the rise and fall of his chest. But he felt dead inside. Like the something that made him him was gone. Torn away, ripped and shattered and bloody, oh so bloody. Great beating heart fallen, crashed onto pavement. _

_ John is and was and will always be a doctor, made to soothe and heal others. He knows of course, what happens to burns as they heal.They ache and ache, fire running through your nerves until one day it all stops. You grow numb to the pain, the agony. The sight of your twisted skin no longer seems so bad, just a pinprick of reminder. Moriarty had said he would burn the heart of Sherlock Holmes. John hadn’t realized that he might be the collateral damage. He closed his eyes, shutting them to the plain white ceiling with the funny crack in the corner. Maybe in time, his burns would heal. Maybe in time he would grow numb to the sight of his twisted skin; appearing as a scuff on the wall, a forgotten funny hat, a lost button; deep purple and glossy.Maybe in time, he’d find a patch for his heart. The alarm went off, noise sharp through the flat, but as he stumbled down the stairs, a ‘Good morning, John,' never came. _

_ Wouldn't come ever again. _

**

John’s eyes snapped open with a choked gasp, the pained image fresh in his mind. Sherlock was still in the bed, curled on his side. John reached a shaky hand out, smoothing it over scarred skin, convincing himself that this was real, that Sherlock was here. The dream wasn’t really a dream, but a memory, dredged from the depths of his mind, rattled loose by the night before. He swallowed, fighting back the water coming to his eyes. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s shoulder blade and slid one hand down Sherlock’s side, pushing the blankets down to cup his hip. The curtains showed a faint crack of light, still lavender dim in the early morning and John sighed. His breath moved the curls resting on Sherlock’s neck, and the younger man stirred, shifting on the bed. John paused, waiting to see if he’d wake, and was not disappointed as Sherlock turned. Soft, sleepy eyes blinked at him, dark blue to match the almost dark room.

“Good morning, John.”

John startled at the almost echo and smiled softly. “Good morning, Sherlock.” He raised a hand and brushed an errant curl from Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock narrowed his eyes curiously, tilting his head just slightly as John leaned in and nuzzled their noses together. 

“John? What are you doing? You look…..sad. ” 

“It’s early on my day off, sweetheart, I’m allowed to look sad.” John chuckled, Sherlock squinting up at him in amusement. "Anyhow, I only woke because I had a dream."

“What was it about?” 

John paused, holding his gaze. “It wasn’t really a dream. More of a memory. PTSD decided to remind me it was still here, prodded me with a vengeance . Gets especially bad after an emotional night like last.”

“I am aware. ” Sherlock nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. “What was the memory?”

John sighed and pressed closer, winding their legs together. “It was the morning after you died, jumped. I woke up before the alarm and for a moment everything was fine. Then I...realized that the flat was too silent. And it all just slammed into me. That you were gone, that you had died. That Moriarty had done what he’d promised, burned a heart.” He dropped a kiss to Sherlock’s chin. “He just missed his target. Got me instead.”

Sherlock’s eyes fell, and he buried his face into John. “I’m sorry.”

John shook his head. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart. I know what you did and why.”

“But you were angry when I first came back.”

“Yeah, I was. But if I’m being honest, I was more angry that I’d been had. That I’d finally let you go, even though it killed me too and then you showed up. And I couldn’t walk out on Mary, so I let my anger get the best of me. Let it tell me that I was right and you’d jumped without caring what it would do to me,” John said, exhausted. “And I’m sorry. That I shut you out after you came back. I could see you were hurting, I just didn’t care. Couldn’t let myself in case you left again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, John.”

“I am truly sorry, sweetheart.”

“I know, John.” They fell silent for a moment, until Sherlock raised his head.

“You keep saying that. Why?”

“Saying what?”

“Sweetheart. You keep calling me that.”

“You don’t like it? I could stop…” John shrugged, pecking him on the lips.

“No,” Sherlock twisted his lips, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “I like it. Just..why sweetheart?”

“I’m not sure. Seems to fit you.”

“I’m a thirty-eight year old man.”

“So? Doesn’t mean you can’t be my sweetheart. You’re sweet and cuddly. I bet you’re ticklish even.”

“No, I’m not.” Sherlock said quickly, shaking his head

“Yes, you are,” John said, a slight gleam in his eyes. 

Sherlock looked at him, eyes growing wide. “John, whatever you’re thinking--no! No, no, don’t.” John had pounced, fingers prodded at Sherlock’s sides and underarms as he squeaked out protests. “John!” Sherlock begged, writhing and trying to escape. “STOP!”

John stopped, hands in the air as he rocked back on his heels, Sherlock scrambling out from beneath him and putting his back to the headboard as he caught his breath.

“I do not like being tickled.” He said, glaring at John. 

“Not even a bit?” John teased, coming to sit beside him. He held out his arm and Sherlock gave him a reproachful look but laid his head down. John smiled and relaxed, only to jerk as Sherlock bit down on his nipple. “Oi!” 

“Pay back, John.”

“Not nice, love.”

“Neither was that,” Sherlock grumbled, rolling onto his stomach and pillowing his head on his hands. “What time is it? Must be before dawn, the traffic below isn’t going very fast and the cab two houses from Mrs.Turner’s isn’t idling outside yet while the driver warms up. Of course, it is Sunday and he doesn’t go out until--” Sherlock paused, letting the deductions go with a sigh as John gentled a hand over his lower back.

“It’s early, Sherlock,” John said, gliding his hand down his skin and up over the curve of his arse. “Go back to sleep. Stop deducing for a bit, yeah?” 

“Mmm, how am I meant to go to sleep with you doing that?” Sherlock murmured, looking at him with one baleful eye. John chuckled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You know, you have a lot of freckles. If you’re not going to sleep, can I count them all?”

“There are not that many.”

“There are enough.” John said, scooting down and swinging a leg over Sherlock’s calves to sit. “If I start right here,” he murmured, pressing gently with a fingertip at the base of Sherlock’s neck, “that’s one.” He leaned up and dropped a kiss over the small mark. He began to move down Sherlock’s body, pecking each mark and keeping up a stream of comments the whole way. “That makes ten already, told you you had a lot…..and that’s thirteen, wait no, that’s a mole. Doesn’t matter, I’ll count it anyway….ooh, you have one right here, that’s strange.”

“John, why are you doing this?”

John paused, sliding his fingernails lightly down the line of Sherlock’s spine, leading a trail of goosebumps down the skin. “Because. I want to know everything about you, the same way you always seem to know everything about me.” Sherlock moaned softly, arching into the touch. “Roll over, sweetheart.” 

Sherlock obeyed, propping his head up on the pillows as he looked down at John. John moved up the bed, straddling his waist and pulling him in for a kiss. Sherlock hummed against his lips, pouting as John broke apart with a grin. “I’m only on number fifteen, sweetheart, still got more to go.” Sherlock gasped as John ducked his head to bite at his nipple, hands going to his short blonde hair. John smirked as Sherlock tugged, moving to press a kiss to freckle number sixteen. He worked his way down again, pausing at the cross shaped cluster of freckles on Sherlock’s left hip. “Look at this, sweetheart. My mother would have said you were touched by an angel with a mark like this.” Sherlock looked down at him, eyes hooded as he followed the path of John’s fingers over the marks on his hip and down into the crease between thigh and groin.

“John?” Sherlock said quietly.

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“There aren’t any freckles where you are considering kissing.”

“No, there aren’t. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Sherlock tipped his head back as John mouthed along his skin, following the path his fingers had made. 

John chuckled, breath hot on Sherlock’s skin. “Will you go back to sleep or will you be too excited?

“Yes, John.”

"I'm not sure which one you're saying yes to, sweetheart," John teased, running his hand around and up Sherlock's ankle and shin. Sherlock gave him a pleased hum, encouraging his mouth with a slight rock of his hips. "Alright, sweetheart, alright," John chuckled, hand still meandering across Sherlock's rapidly heating skin until it came to grasp the base of his cock. Sherlock moaned softly in response and John took it as the permission it was, licking at the head with an answering moan. "God, sweetheart. Your taste..."

"What, John?" Sherlock asked, breath catching as John licked again, slow teasing darts of tongue up his slit.

"It's indescribable," John answered, voice low and hungry. A ripple went through Sherlock's body at the lusty tone and he closed his eyes giving himself over to John's touch. John worked him gently, swirling his tongue around the head of Sherlock's cock, letting his teeth drag gently over the sides. Each new movement was greeted by a answering sound, a breathy plea from Sherlock for "more", and "John, yes." Nobley, John answered the call, swallowing him down. He ran his tongue along the ridge of Sherlock's cock, making an quiet choking noise as he took him too far, and pulled off, raising his head to lick again. 

Sherlock gripped the sheets tight as John lapped at the base of his cock, heels digging into the mattress. "John, please!" John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's thighs, guiding his legs up onto his shoulders. He began to bob his head faster, tongue working as he stroked a hand over Sherlock's lower belly. The younger man had already been reduced to wordless panting, and with one final swipe, Sherlock came, hips jerking hard. John swallowed his spend, licking his lips greedily when he finished. Sherlock's eyes had opened once more, sleepy and sated as he stared down at John, somewhat amused. "John, you're still holding my thighs. Do let go."

John smiled up at him, and leaned forward pressing a kiss to the head of his soft cock, causing a small tremble to run Sherlock's body. He shifted up from between Sherlock's legs, lying alongside him and kissing up his neck to his mouth. "Wanna taste?" He asked, grinning as he licked his way into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock moaned greedily as John rutted against his thigh.

"John, come on me," Sherlock murmured, running a hand through his hair. "Use my body." 

"Sweetheart-"

"John please?"

John groaned and captured his mouth again, hips speeding as his cock slid over Sherlock's skin. "Too dry, sweetheart,"John chuckled. "I can just use my hands."

"No, wait." Sherlock said, reaching over into the bedside drawer. "Look." He tugged out a bottle of lube and turned his belly. 

"Sherlock, I don't think I'll last long enough too-"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and moved a hand back to slick between his thighs. "This way John. It's far too early to have your prick up my arse," he mumbled, flushing as John dropped a kiss to aforementioned arse. 

"No such thing. Never a bad time to have my prick up your arse." John teased, running a hand over his spine. He frowned as Sherlock stiffened. "Oh, sweetheart no," he murmured, with sudden realization. "Not what I meant. Anything we do, both of us have to want to do. I'd never do that." 

"I know. I just..." Sherlock shrugged and turned over to look at John. John smiled at him and leaned down to press their lips together.

"Well, if you have questions or fears about what I want from you, or what to do, you can ask, yeah? And if I have questions I'll ask you as well. We'll make this work, Sherlock. Even if you decided you'd never want to have sex again, or share a bed, or anything. I'd stay with you." John paused, gazing into Sherlock's eyes. "I love you. That will stay. Love like this? Doesn't fade." 

"John..."

John shook his head. "I mean it. I was a fool to think that this would go away. More of a fool to hide it from you. The time we lost... I'll regret it forever." 

Sherlock closed his eyes and reached up, tugging John down to his chest. 

"I find it difficult...this sort of stuff," John mumbled. "But now that you know? It's...easy. So easy to just let go."

"Yes, John," Sherlock murmured, pressing kisses to the top of his head. "Sentimental is not my normal state. But with you, I can be. You don't make me afraid not to know something, how to act. You can get mad, but you always explain. Very few people are so patient with me.”

“They should be,” John replied. “You’re brilliant, Sherlock. Just not everyone can see that.” 

"You can. You know me, more than anyone else has ever bothered to try," Sherlock replied. 

"And I am the luckiest man alive for it," John sighed, nuzzling into his chest. 

"John." Sherlock said, voice grave as he pulled away. "You're going to fuck my thighs now."

"Um, well that was a bit of a turn about," John said, blinking up at him. "Right. I can do that. Are you sure?"

"Yes, John." Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. "Kneel. Back closer to the headboard." He ordered, slicking his thighs again. John did as instructed, Sherlock pushing back against him. He pulled his cock up and out of the way as John slotted his cock in between his thighs. 

"You sure about this, love?" John groaned. "Won't take long." 

In response, Sherlock reared up, wrapping one arm around John's neck, turning his head and pulling him in for a deep kiss. "Yes. Now move." 

John began to thrust, slow and hard. Sherlock stroked his cock, watching as John's thick cock peeked out from between his thighs. John hooked his chin over Sherlock's shoulder with a smile. "Are you watching, sweetheart?" He breathed. "God, you're so hot around me. My genius, always has another experiment going. What do you think? Is this a success? I can see you getting hard." 

Sherlock groaned, cock twitching as it filled out. John smirked, and angled himself so he was brushing over Sherlock's bollocks, hands moving to Sherlock's hips. Grip tight, John began to speed up, both men grunting at the sound of flesh slapping together. "Quick and dirty, sweetheart. I should have known you'd like it like this. Feel me pressed along you, my cock between your legs. 'M gonna come you know. Gonna spill all over you. Think you can come again? Move your hands faster, Sherlock, I wanna come together." 

Sherlock obeyed with a low whine, and only seconds later they came together. Sherlock dripped over his palm, seed spilling down onto John's rapidly softening cock. John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's shoulder with a pleased sigh, letting his hand fall to Sherlock's come covered thigh. "Better get you cleaned up sweetheart," he murmured, trailing a finger through the mess. "You want a taste first?" Sherlock nodded and John brought the finger to his lips, coating them. "Lick, love." 

Sherlock licked his lips greedily, then went for John's finger. John chuckled and pulled away, shifting on the bed so he could reach Sherlock's mouth. "God, you're fucking gorgeous." He leaned in for a messy kiss. "You want a shower or just a wipe down, love?"

Sherlock pulled away, laying back on the pillows with sigh. "Too early for a shower," he mumbled. "Go back to bed." 

"You'll be crusty in the morning," John said moving off the bed. "I'll just get a flannel," he said, paddling away to the bathroom. He came back a few minutes later with a damp cloth. "Spread 'em, sweetheart," he grinned, climbing onto the bed. Sherlock did, and John went about tidying him up, rubbing circles over his skin. John dropped a kiss to his stomach, smiling at the look on Sherlock's face. "You're practically purring. Sex looks good on you, love." 

Sherlock smirked and stretched, sliding his legs against John's. "I'm quite fond of it. With the right person." 

"And who might that person be?" John asked, balling the flannel up and tossing it toward the door. Sherlock grinned, an evil gleam in his eye. 

"You."

He tugged John down, long limbs pinning the soldier to the bed as he nuzzled into his neck, sucking a mark. "You're mine, John Hamish Watson."

"All yours, love." John said, running a tickling hand down his spine. "As long as you'll have me."

Sherlock pulled back, a strange look in his eye. "John..."

John shook his head. "We aren't having the conversation you're considering having at nearly four in the morning, love. I wouldn't say no, but I'd definitely say not yet. Better just to wait, yeah? I love you, no matter what labels we put on ourselves. We are partners." 

Sherlock nodded, looking just a tad bit relieved. "Partners," he said, laying his head down on John's chest. "That sounds quite apt. We won't even have to change the website." 

He fell asleep to the sound of John's deep chuckle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [phipiohsum475](http://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475) for the beta!


	3. Good Morning

A few hours later, John woke to a mouthful of dark curls and the sensation he was being engulfed by a rather pale octopus. He opened one eye, squinting against the light coming in through the window. With a determined grimace, he wriggled out from Sherlock's clutches and made his way to the bathroom. Morning ablutions completed and a robe thrown on, he headed into the kitchen, humming quietly as he pulled out supplies. Sherlock padded in about thirty minutes later, sleepy eyed and covered in a sheet. "Pancakes?" 

"Mhmm," John said, flipping the last perfectly golden brown circle out of the pan. "Ready for them?" 

"Yes, John,” Sherlock said, hanging his arms around John's shoulders as the smaller man flipped off the burner. 

"Has anyone ever told you that you are remarkably endearing in the morning?" John asked, dropping a kiss to the bit of arm within reach. "Come on, I've got to put this on the table.” Sherlock grumbled, nosing along the back of John's neck. "You smell good." 

"Go on," John laughed. "Sit down. Better yet, get the syrup out." He laughed again as Sherlock perked up at the thought of the sweet topping and moved away to rummage through the cupboards. 

Sherlock caught him again as he set the pancakes down on the table, enclosing him in the sheet. "John...when breakfast is finished, you have a promise to uphold," he murmured, pressing his lean body along John's. John wiggled back against him, only the thin robe separating them. 

"Oh yeah? What's that then?" 

"You said next time, we'd shower together," Sherlock said, releasing him. "And I know I'm feeling positively filthy." 

John groaned and Sherlock claimed his lips, swallowing the sound down. "Breakfast, John."

"Do we have to?" John asked breathlessly, eyes dark.

"The most important meal of the day," Sherlock replied, sitting down and snagging a pancake. John rolled his eyes and sat down, adjusting the robe to cover the interested party peeking out from between the flaps. He scowled as Sherlock smirked, biting into a syrup drenched pancake. 

"Your fault, dunno why you're laughing." 

"Eat your breakfast, John. I want to get cleaned up," Sherlock said, before wolfing the rest of his prize down in three bites.

"Hungry, sweetheart?" John teased, fixing his own plate.

"Starved," Sherlock said, catching John's eyes. The look he gave made John move a bit faster, nearly meeting Sherlock's pace. 

They finished and Sherlock snatched the plates up, tossing them into the sink. "Clean them later. Clean us now," he said, walking to the doorway of the kitchen. As John watched, he dropped his sheet and smirked, disappearing down the hallway. Eyes wide, John followed, Sherlock already in the shower when he got to the bathroom. 

John stepped in after him, sliding his hands around Sherlock's waist. "I seem to recall someone saying something about sharing a shower. Tell me John," Sherlock said, face tipped up to the spray as he moved his hands to cover John's. "What does that entail?" 

John chuckled and tightened his grip for a moment before releasing. "Let me show you?" he said, reaching over for a flannel. He lathered it up, Sherlock waiting patiently. With a smile, John nudged Sherlock out of the water and began to run the cloth over his chest.

“You know, this is nice, but what I’d really like to do,” John said, sliding the cloth low over his belly, “is wash your hair.”

Sherlock smiled, looking faintly amused. “What?”

“It’s the curls. I like them, like my hands in them. They’re softer than you’d think.” John smiled back.

"You're very touch oriented."

John paused, taking his hands from Sherlock's hips. "If you don't like it..." 

Sherlock chuckled. "No John," he said. "I like it. It's fine. All of it is fine."

"I'm glad." John smiled and moved his hands back to Sherlock's hips and continued soaping his skin. Sherlock watched him, following the path of the flannel. He sighed contentedly,resting his arms on John's shoulders, wrists crossed behind his neck. "Happy, love?" John asked, dropping a kiss to a clear patch of skin on his shoulder. 

"Immensely," Sherlock murmured, tilting his head and fixing John with a piercing gaze. "But I could be happier." 

"Sherlock?" John asked, as Sherlock nudged him back, pressing his body to the wall. "Shit, that's cold." Sherlock chuckled and reached up to angle the spray on them once more. 

"Better, John?" he said quietly, the shorter man nodding. "Good." He leaned down, pressing a kiss to his lips, pausing only for a moment before deepening the movement, tongue swiping across John's lips as he sought admittance. John hummed happily, and Sherlock slotted a thigh between his legs. 

John groaned, pressing gently against it as his cock filled out. “You trying to get somewhere, Sherlock?” 

“Preferably back to our bed,” Sherlock said. “But,” he stepped away, “you wanted to wash my hair.” John narrowed his eyes, holding out his hand. Sherlock smirked, the corner of his mouth turning up. He reached behind him, and then as he handed John the shampoo bottle, he trailed his finger gently along the inside of John’s wrist. “Please John?” he murmured softly, catching his gaze. John nodded and Sherlock smiled again, dropping gracefully to his knees. The water ran down his skin, soaking his curls, plastering them to his head. John’s breath caught as Sherlock looked up at him from underneath long lashes, sparkling with droplets of water. “Please, John?” he whispered again, voice barely audible above the falling water. “I want you to.” John swallowed hard and poured a healthy amount of shampoo on his hands, the smell of sandalwood filling the shower. He reached forward, running his hands gently through Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock closed his eyes, mouth opened to the water running in, throat working as he swallowed. Soap ran down his cheek, and Joan slid a finger along the trail of foam. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he said quietly. “Ebony and ivory, marble and ink. An angel, fallen to his knees before me. How’d I get you?” Sherlock moaned, low and deep, John gasping as his body reacted. He locked his knees in efforts to stay standing, and began to massage Sherlock’s scalp. He buried his fingers in curls and tugged to the sound of Sherlock’s gasp. “You like that?” Sherlock nodded, bowing his head as John began to rinse his hair. “Do you want to try something, Sherlock?” John asked quietly. Sherlock made a quiet noise of confusion and John hushed him, moving his hands from his hair. “Come here, sweetheart.” He tugged Sherlock up by the arm, pulling him close under the spray. “I want you to think about something,” he murmured, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s shoulder.

“John?”

“Shh, sweetheart. Just listen. I want you to think about what it would be like if you were lying in bed. Stretched out on the sheets. My hands pinning you down, my mouth on your skin. How it would feel if I tugged on those gorgeous curls. Are you thinking about it? Can you see it?” John asked, hand slipping to wrap gently around Sherlock’s cock. He smiled and began to stroke, continuing. “How it would feel when I bite down, when my teeth are around this gorgeous nipple, my tongue teasing it. Or maybe, sweetheart, I’d tie you up. Wouldn't have to hold you down then, leave my hands free to spread your thighs, hold them apart. Let you writhe under me, struggle while my tongue opens you up. Would you like that? I love the way your body trembles. You’d be gorgeous and open, wet from my tongue up your arse. I bet you’d taste so good.” 

Sherlock gasped, breathing hard as John played with the head of his cock, thumb slipping over the head. John smiled and reached back, teasing at his rim with another finger. “I’d let you taste, love. Do you want that Sherlock? To know how your cock tastes, your arse? All dark and musky. I’ve never done that with anyone else. Only want you.” Sherlock nodded shakily, dropping his head to John’s shoulder with a low moan. “You would look so pretty, wrapped up in some dark black silk. Maybe I’d take your scarf, wrap it around your cock and get you off. We’d wash it, but every time you wore it out of the house, you’d know. Know what we’d--Jesus Christ!” John yelped, jumping out of the spray as Sherlock hissed. They tumbled out of the shower, shivering at the sudden burst of icy water. 

“No more hot water,” Sherlock choked out, avoiding John’s eyes. 

“Shit, and you were so close,” John said crossly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, we’ll just-are you laughing?” Sherlock nodded, shaking with silent laughter. John stared at him, blinking. “I cannot believe you right now,” he said, reaching out and wrapping a towel around himself. “Honestly.” He grabbed another and tossed it at Sherlock. “Come here,” he said darkly, crossing his arms. Sherlock shook his head, doubled over and turning red. John shook his head and bit back a smile. “Alright fine.” He took the towel, and set it aside, dropping down and throwing Sherlock over his shoulder. “Now.” Sherlock stopped laughing with a gasp as John moved into the bedroom and dropped him on the bed, clambering on top of him. “Now then,” John said, breathing hard with the exertion. “Jesus, for someone so thin you’re heavy.”

“Muscle weight, John,” Sherlock said with a smirk as he watched the soldier on top of him. 

“Oh, I know that,” John said, looking down at him. He traced a finger up Sherlock’s chest, sliding around his neck. Shifting up, he braced himself with a leg on either side of Sherlock’s hips, hard cock peeking out from the towel round his waist. “Now, you were laughing at me. Weren’t you?” 

“Perhaps,” Sherlock mused, sliding his hands up John’s thighs and under the edge of the towel.

“Ahh,” John said, stopping him. “We’re having a conversation. Before we were so rudely interrupted by the boiler and you laughing at me, where were we? Oh yes,” he said, taking Sherlock’s wrists and pinning them by his side. “You were pinned down.” Sherlock’s eyes went dark and John chuckled. “If you need me to stop, just say so,” he murmured, dropping his head near Sherlock’s ear, hot breath wafting over his skin. “Now...pinned down and yes...teeth.” He turned his head, dragging his lips along Sherlock’s neck, before stopping and nipping at the tender spot behind his ear. Sherlock gasped, tensing beneath him. “That’s it sweetheart. You like this don’t you?” Sherlock nodded as John moved down, biting down on one nipple gently. “Sherlock? Keep your hands on the mattress,” John ordered, releasing his wrists. Sherlock raised his hands above his head, clasping them together. “Oh perfect, sweetheart,” John praised, tongue dipping out to tease at the reddened nub beneath his teeth. 

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock murmured, watching his progress.John teased his way down, stopping as he pressed Sherlock’s thighs apart, lying between them. 

“Do you want this? What I said earlier?” John asked quietly, all teasing left aside. 

Sherlock hesitated for a moment, but nodded. “Yes.”

“Bend these up then. In fact, over my shoulders with them,” John said, rubbing his legs gently. Sherlock obeyed and John settled in, blowing teasingly over his rim. “Ready?”

Sherlock let out a slow breath and closed his eyes. “Yes,” he murmured, biting his lip. John smiled, and dropped a kiss to his inner thigh.

“Alright then.” He started slow, the first touch of his hot tongue making Sherlock jerk, eyes flying open as John moved. 

"John...." he moaned, hips arching from the bed. 

"Good?” John asked, smiling. “Hands can go to the headboard if you want,” he said. Sherlock put his hands up and John went back to work, Sherlock’s thighs trembling on either side of his head. 

“John, John, John please,” Sherlock moaned, chest heaving. “”S good.” 

“I know sweetheart,” John said, pulling away after a bit. “Gonna add a finger now.” He tucked an arm under Sherlock’s thigh, teasing at his rim with a thumb. Sherlock pressed against it, and John chuckled. “Patience, Sherlock.

“No, John. Want it.” 

John groaned at the tinge of desperation in his voice and roughly pushed his thumb inside. Sherlock whimpered at the slight burn, hips bucking. “That’s it love, take it,” John said, pulling away again. “I’ve got a better idea though,” he murmured, pressing two spit slick fingers inside instead as he mouthed along Sherlock’s leg, moving up to take his bollocks into his mouth with a groan. Sherlock was panting, cock hard, flushed and dripping as he stared up at the ceiling. 

“You gonna come like this, sweetheart?” John asked, pulling his mouth away and nipping at the crease between thigh and groin. “Without me touching your cock?” 

Sherlock shook his head, body trembling and flushed. “Can’t. Never done it before.” 

“I think you can,” John said, angling his fingers to press against Sherlock’s prostate. He stroked hard and fast, mouth pressed to the base of Sherlock’s cock, letting hot breaths ghost over his skin. “Come for me, sweetheart.” Sherlock whined, eyes closing as his hips jumped, still shaking his head. “Do it, love. Let me see you.” John pushed hard, working him until with a silent cry, Sherlock arched up, body shuddering. His cock jerked, seed splattering over his skin as he obeyed, coming untouched. John moved out from under his legs, kissing his sticky stomach as Sherlock lay limp beneath him. “Beautiful love. So, so beautiful.” Sherlock moaned, reaching out and pulling John to him. 

“John,” he muttered faintly. “You...how are you mine?”Sherlock reached a hand down, grasping John’s cock loosely, beginning to stroke. “I want you to come for me.” John moaned in response, catching Sherlock’s lips with his own. 

“‘M close Sherlock,” he muttered, kissing him desperately. “You-ah- don’t know what watching you, tasting you does to me. More, please.” Sherlock sped his hand, letting John plunder his mouth. He reached over, setting a hand on John’s hip, tugging him close, pressing his hand and John’s cock tight between their body. John moaned against him, eyes closing.

“Yes, sweetheart, just like that.”

“I want to see, John. Don’t make me wait.” 

John shook his head. “I...fuck...won’t. Almost there.” 

“Come.” Sherlock twisted his hand, leaning his head in to bite at John’s shoulder. A few more strokes, and John couldn’t help but obey, spurting between them with a shout. Sherlock kept moving, working until John whimpered with sensitivity. Sherlock released him and they broke apart, rolling onto their backs to catch their breath. 

“So,” John said after a few moments. “That was good, yeah? You’d like to maybe try it again?” 

Sherlock nodded. “Very much so, John. However, I’m afraid it’s caused a problem.” 

John looked over at him, concern etched across his face.

“We need to take another shower.” 

John snorted, rolling onto his belly and pillowing his head on his arms. “And change the sheets.” 

“And that,” Sherlock agreed. “John?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you.” 

John smiled, raising up a bit to lean over and kiss his cheek. “I love you too, Sherlock. Good morning.” 

“Good Morning, John. I think...there will be many more.”

"More?"

"Mornings. Together," Sherlock said, tilting his head as he watched John consider. 

“I’d like that,” John smiled, tucking into his side. “I’d like that a lot.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> Edit: 5-30-15  
> This fic is now complete. It began at about four am in January and finished five months later. I'd like to thank everyone who read along with me, commented and kudosed. I am so grateful for your support!
> 
> I'd like to also thank my betas, who can be found[ here](http://shjwwriterscircle.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Special thanks also to [Jqhnlock](http://jqhnlock.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for helping form the ideas!  
> 


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